


now we're grown up orphans

by captainangua



Series: carry on codas [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Azazel's Special Children (Supernatural), Canonical Character Death, Episode Related, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Growing Old, Jack Kline as God, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Parent Sam Winchester, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, The Impala (Supernatural), but also baby, found family vibes aggressively continue!!, i have no interest in working out how old anyone is here, look i do not accept the finale but i will continue to carve it into a new animal that is a threat, no details only vibes, one day i write them a real fic, sam winchester & religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28015038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainangua/pseuds/captainangua
Summary: Dean had heard the story of how his father raised his mother from the dead hundreds of times through his life. It wasn’t one the minister was repeating now at the funeral, but he was thinking on it anyway, because his Dad had always said that it was what gave him the strength to keep going and fighting. It seemed to be true, because now the opposite was. Five months after Eileen Leahy’s death and his family were burying Sam Winchester.
Relationships: Dean Winchester Jr & Rowena Macleod, Dean Winchester Jr. (Supernatural: Carry On) & Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester Jr. (Supernatural: Carry On), Jack Kline & Sam Winchester
Series: carry on codas [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024549
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	now we're grown up orphans

**Author's Note:**

> so anyway i do still hate the finale and you'd better BELIEVE i'm still salty about the photos above the bed

Dean had heard the story of how his father raised his mother from the dead hundreds of times through his life. It wasn’t one the minister was repeating now at the funeral, but he was thinking on it anyway, because his Dad had always said that it was what gave him the strength to keep going and fighting. It seemed to be true, because now the opposite was. Five months after Eileen Leahy’s death and his family were burying Sam Winchester.

Well, not exactly family. Dean was the only one there that was a blood relation. Adam had been invited, of course, but he was forgetting a lot more nowadays, and Dean hadn’t wanted to force his Uncle into this – into something that would hurt him the way this would. And family didn’t end with blood – there was always that. His Dad had said that endless times over the years, with a smile at Claire and Kaia’s wedding, with a grave face at Bobby’s funeral, with a snarl and a roll of his eyes when Garth’s clan had needed help against a large and aggressive group of hunters.

When Sam had died Dean had called Claire first. Then he’d burst open a vein to call Rowena.

And here the Queen of Hell was, clothed in the finery of a Victorian widow’s mourning outfit, sitting in a church.

Kevin had, kindly, questioned the choice when he’d arrived. He’d given Dean his condolences and a hug and then immediately said “…a church? For a guy who shot God? _Raised_ God?”

Dean had shrugged. “He liked coming here.”

Because Sam had. No one had really understood it, and for once, it wasn’t something he’d gone out of his way to explain. But this church today filled with demons and werewolves and witches and hunters had all come, even if they had found it strange.

It felt like a way of inviting Jack without having to pray. But if Jack was there, Dean couldn’t see him.

But the minister said he was with them so Dean had to suppose he was.

*

He’d never asked if his Dad liked the photos. It had been a surprise, a few weeks after Sam had become completely bedbound, and Dean had wanted to do something to cheer him up, to prompt him into remembering – to talking.

It had worked, at least a little.

“He did his best, I think,” he said, every time the family photo born of a strange time travel incident was put in front of him, speaking always about his father. “If there was one thing I think he did right – one thing I tried to do – it was – well he was always honest. He thought we should know what he’d been there and what we were up against in the world.” He would, at this point, almost always look at Dean, his eyes begging for the answer he was about to prompt. “We did that for you, right?”

And Dean would lean forward on the bed that was empty now and say, “yeah, Dad, always.”

Because if there was one thing he’d always been able to say about his parents’ style of parenting it was that they’d never kept things from him. He couldn’t remember a time he didn’t know how his Mom had lost her hearing, or why his Dad didn’t ever like to be photographed and twitched at loud noises. He knew why his Uncle Bobby had never made it home to his fourteenth birthday – a routine hunt had gone wrong. And he knew that his Uncle Adam would have never been alive to be in his life if his Dad hadn’t started the apocalypse. He knew he might be the last living legacy to two branches of the Men of Letters.

He also knew why he had the name he did.

It was a family name, by way of his grandmother. Who had died fighting the thing that would kill half his family and curse Sam’s bloodline in a way that led to some quirks that Claire had always called “freaky” and Rowena liked to call “fascinating”.

His name was a difficult thing to live up to. It was a name for larger than life hunters and heroes who saved the world and he was a college dropout fluent in the odd mix of Spanish, ASL and Latin who was a passable enough witch for Rowena to be yelling at him to get over himself and make himself immortal already.

From what he’d heard, Dean Winchester the first hadn’t had much love for witches, or magic.

He’d been twenty two and when the dreams had started he hadn’t thought much of it. He’d been right sometimes, about things he shouldn’t have been right about, but mostly he’d just felt this awful sense of déjà vu too much of the time. Then he’d joined his Dad on a hunt neither of them had planned on being on and the things he shouldn’t have known had somehow saved both their lives.

His Dad had told him his theories about it right away – he’d been honest right from the first. About what he thought it was that is, never about how he felt about it – especially not when Dean’s powers had continued to change and grow. Dean was grateful for that. Some things were better not said aloud. So he was grateful that his Dad had nothing to say but false support when he’d realised he could make people do what he wanted if he asked them to. When he could move things around with his mind if that’s what he wanted.

They weren’t sure if this was something Dean would lose again, like his Dad, or if it would only grow. For a while it had really frightened him. He might have grown up surrounded by things and people that weren’t human, but he always had been. It felt like his family’s cursed bad luck had finally caught up with him –

But then he’d figured out how to turn on super strength in his mid-twenties and he’d stopped seeing it as a burden.

His Mom told him once she suspected that Sam’s powers hadn’t so much as gone away as been suppressed. But it also could just be as simple as they’d died with the thing that had given to him but it had all lain dormant in his blood after that. She never thought of it as too big a deal. While Dean’s Dad always worried about _everything_ , his Mom was much happier to go with the flow and take life as it came up.

Her picture was smiling at Dean now from his Dad’s dresser. It was a photo from their wedding, and it was the sort of deliriously happy photo everyone hopes will be attached to that day. They’d had no professional photographer – Alex had taken this, if Dean remembered right. Both looked a little drunk, and although both were smiling widely it was the furthest thing from posed.

“It was a good day.”

Smiling to himself, Dean put down the picture frame and turned to see Jack, looking the same as he always did. Well, almost.

“I like the hat.”

Self-consciously, Jack raised a hand to the beanie covering his head. “Thanks. I’m trying something out.”

Not feeling ready to try and move in for a hug, Dean sat down on the bed. He rarely knew how to be around Jack, and the worst part was that Jack knew – because Jack knew everything.

He thought he saw a slight smile at that.

“Haven’t seen you since the party.”

Moving slowly as though he didn’t want to scare him, Jack sat down beside him, but not too close. “It was kind of Sam to insist. I did have fun.”

“It was your fortieth, he wasn’t gonna _forget_.”

Jack smiled. “He never used to be good at remembering. Holidays weren’t something the Winchesters were known for celebrating,” he said, shrugging.

Dean nodded. He was used to his Dad being referenced as part of half of a matched set like this. He just wasn’t used to thinking of him in the past tense too…

“He’s met Dean now.”

“Not Mom?”

“Dean would say he had “dibs”. But time works differently up there,” Jack added. “Dean spent decades driving around in the Impala.”

“The car’s up there too? Really?”

“Dean really loved his car.”

“I don’t know what to do with it,” Dean said, the words coming out too fast, like he was trying to admit guilt for something he hadn’t done yet. “The car. I mean… I don’t know what to do with any of it. The house, the bunker, but the car… I’ve never even driven that thing, Jack.”

She’d meant too much to his Dad, it almost felt disrespectful to even approach her. He’d been no perfect kid, but some rebellions just weren’t worth it. This holy haunted house in their garage had been kept spotless and barely used his entire life. His Dad liked to walk, and his Mom drove her own. When he’d gotten his license, Dean had taken on an old dinosaur of Adam’s, not even considering asking about the Chevrolet, always kept covered by its shroud.

“I’m the last one. I’m supposed to be some kind of legacy but… I wasn’t ready. I told Dad I’d be fine, but…”

Jack, awkward as always, placed a careful hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Uh, Cas - Castiel, he told me once that the thing about the death of the people you love is that there’s nothing you can do about it – that all you can do is love the people you love while they’re with you.” He frowned. “Which wasn’t actually advice I ended up needing. People still _die,_ but they’re never not with me.”

“I guess.”

They weren’t exactly brothers, not exactly family, but Dean’s family had never been normal. What mattered was that Jack was here at all.

“Do you think…” Dean swallowed, then grinned. “I mean do you _know_ – would it be too cheesy to just… take it for a drive? Get away for a while?”

“I _think_ you’re the only one who knows. But I always liked driving. It’s calming, to pick a destination like that.”

“You wanna come with?”

Jack looked taken aback and Dean had to roll his eyes at the sight. Surely _God_ wasn’t really surprised by his sentimental little suggestion.

“You got anything better to be doing?”

“Everything.” Jack paused. “And nothing.” He cleared his throat and smiled, almost looking shy now. “Where would you like to go?”

*

**Author's Note:**

> y'know how charmed was gonna give it's weird sons a roadtrip show at the end but didn't since WB picked up spn that year...... yeah....


End file.
